


And So the Rain Called For Me

by braveandthebold



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime), 言の葉の庭 | Kotonoha no Niwa | Garden of Words (2013)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Being Lost, But not too aged up, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kotonoha no Niwa AU, M/M, Romance, Tragic Viktor backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 07:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10184396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braveandthebold/pseuds/braveandthebold
Summary: So here he is, a 23-year-old man with a communications degree, a lackluster skating career and not a single clue what he wants to do with his life. Funny how life works out like that.In which Yuuri still loses at last year’s Grand Prix Final and everything's pretty much the same, except he and Victor don’t exactly meet until much later.(I just really like Kotonoha no Niwa okay?)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, Yuuri still comes home in March and is in a bit of a slump after his GPF loss. Since he doesn't meet Viktor till A LOT later, I had to change some things around. So no, there is no banquet scene with stripper poles in this universe, and their meeting from episode 1 doesn't exist. I also had to make Viktor 30 instead of 27 in order for the plot line to work. 
> 
> And OF COURSE Phichit is the embarrassing Viktor Nikiforov fan in this universe. 
> 
> Also, I have no idea when skaters actually need to confirm their spots for the GPF. According to the ISU guidelines online, it's around mid-August??? I don't know guys, I tried. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this!

**_March._ **

 

He pulls down his mask and breathes in the cold air of March.

He hates the cold.

It hurts his lungs, making it harder to breathe on the days when breathing is all he can do to keep himself calm.

He mentally counts down the months in his head, but three months seems so far away. He should have waited until it got closer to June, but he couldn’t stay in Detroit any longer. He’s already graduated from college, and his failures on the ice were practically eating him alive. It got to the point where he found himself gasping for breath every time he tried to skate.

As he steps off the escalator—and the idea of _elevated tracks_ in _Hasetsu_ is still so surprising to him—he can’t help cringing in horror at the posters of his face plastered on the walls. He’s obviously mid-skate, and to make it even worse, Hasetsu Castle is in the background with cherry blossoms blowing in the breeze, just to remind him that he’s basically the heart and soul of Japan.

(The thought of that makes him to want to vomit all over the train platform.)

But the queasiness eases back at the sight of his former ballet teacher, who welcomes him with a pre-made banner and the giddiness one feels when they haven’t seen their loved ones in 5 years.

For once, Yuuri doesn’t mind the cold air of March.

 

* * *

 

His sister asks him what he plans to do next.

He doesn’t know how to respond to that.

She does tell him she’ll support him if he continues to pursue this whole skating thing, but he doesn’t know if that’s supposed to make him feel better or worse. 

“I think… I need time to think it over,” he says, head dropping just the tiniest fraction.

Whether she actually takes a hint or just doesn’t seem interested in the topic anymore, Yuuri’s thankful she doesn’t press him any further for his future plans. 

 _Hah. What future?_ His own mind taunts.

June couldn’t come soon enough.

 

 

**_April_.**

 

It is snowing. It is goddamn snowing in the middle of April.

 _Two more months_ , Yuuri mentally chants. It’s the only thing getting him through this slump of his, but it’s enough to pull himself out of bed every morning and drag his ass down to Ice Castle.

Except the snow’s looking pretty bad, and he’s not sure going for a run would really be in his best interest right now.

“Yuuri, don’t hole up in your room all day! At least come and help shovel the snow!” His mother calls from outside his room.

Yuuri sighs as he slips on his glasses.

Two more months.

 

* * *

 

He does what he can to help around his family’s inn. It earns him a bit of pocket cash on the side, which would be good if only he was saving up for something.

When he’s not working, he runs to Ice Castle and skates his days away. Some days it’s nothing more than compulsory figures, and other days he’s running through his old routines, tweaking some bits here and there and adding in jumps that would have looked great in competition if not for the constant fear of screwing up in the back of his mind. 

Well, in the end he did screw up. Horribly. The internet practically blew up when the results came out, with him in a crushing 6th place while Christophe Giacometti was still safely at the top. He’s been the reigning champion in the figure skating world for the past 3 years, followed by top contenders like Otabek Altin and Jean-Jacques Leroy. Even Yuri Plisetsky, who’ll be making his senior debut this coming fall season, appears to be a promising skater.

Yuuri has yet to forget their little confrontation in the bathroom.

And just like that, anxiety overtakes him and he flubs one of his jumps, landing elbows and knees first on the ice. He’s about to pick himself up, but then his thoughts keep spiraling down and down and well. He knows how that usually ends up.

The next day he plays it safe and goes to Minako-sensei’s dance studio instead. He does leaps and plies and works his body so hard, his muscles feel like putty by the end of the day.

Somehow, he still ends up slipping and falling on the hardwood floor. He lies on his back and stares up at the ceiling, wondering where the hell he went wrong.

 

 

**_June._ **

 

May practically flies by, and by the time Japan enters its first week of June, Yuuri waits in anticipation. His skin is buzzing, and his eyes keep darting to the windows every time he thinks he hears that familiar sound. He never thought he’d say this, but he’s starting to get sick of the cold and the ice.

And then it happens. He wakes up on a Tuesday morning to the sounds of _pitter patter pitter patter_ against his window pane. He immediately sits up, looks out the window and smiles. He has half a mind to open up his window, but the last time he did that it didn’t end up so well.

He rushes out the door with his backpack and skates without so much as a good morning to his family. He can’t wait. He’s waited this long for it to come.

The moment the rain hits his skin he breathes deeply and says, “Hello. I’ve missed you.”

He opens up his umbrella and starts walking. He knows it’s going to be a good day.

 

* * *

 

There’s a certain gazebo just outside Hasetsu Castle that Yuuri always likes to go to. It’s the perfect spot really, with its view of the river and the cherry blossoms surrounding the area. They’re usually in full bloom by April, but by now, they’ve withered away into their green counterparts. But that’s okay, because Yuuri doesn’t normally go for the cherry blossoms.

He inhales deeply and smiles when he exhales and doesn’t see his own breath. The soft patter of rain against the top of his umbrella only further sets the mood, and once again, he knows it’s going to be a good day.

His smile deepens as the gazebo comes into view. It’s still exactly the same as it was five years ago. The wood’s been refurbished a bit—no doubt due to the termites eating away at it—but other than that, it’s the same gazebo that Yuuri’s come to know from childhood till now.

He stops just as he’s about a step away. Well. It seems a new addition has been added that he didn’t know about.

The man looks uncharacteristically out of place on the L-shaped bench, with his white hair and skin that seems far paler than Yuuri’s (and he’s spent most of his life either in a dance studio or a skating rink). His head’s turned, clearly distracted by whatever it is he’s looking at to not notice the Japanese man standing in front of him. As far as Yuuri can tell, the man doesn’t look like he’s from around here. A foreigner perhaps?

With the rain falling all around him and the tree branches dipping low from the weight of the rain on their leaves, Yuuri gets so lost in staring at this strange, strange man and… hold up, is that _beer?_

Suddenly his head turns, the motion slow yet immediate. Blue eyes settle on Yuuri’s face, clearly surprised at having found another presence to join him in the rain.

Brown eyes blink back. He tightens his grip on his umbrella, no doubt waiting for the man to call him out on his weird staring. _What am I even doing_?

Time seems to stop as the two stare at each other, both just as lost as the other.

And then time picks up again. Yuuri steps up onto the platform and closes his umbrella.

The man moves to the other side of the bench, even though there’s plenty of room to squeeze at least five other people. Yuuri sits on the other side, but because the bench is in the form of an L, this places him directly in the man’s line of sight. Well, he’s still far enough away that Yuuri doesn’t have to make conversation if he doesn’t want to. Which he doesn’t. He didn’t come here to make friends, and as much as he knows this isn’t his gazebo, it still irritates him a little to find another person here. Everyone who knows Yuuri knows this is _his spot_. Even the neighbors have dubbed him as the weird rain kid. It’s partially why he didn’t have many friends growing up aside from Yuuko and Takeshi.

He tries to let the rain curb his irritation, as it normally does on the days when skating and dancing aren’t enough. He looks over his shoulder to see Hasetsu Castle looming behind him, and for a moment, he closes his eyes and lets everything sink in. He can hear the rain against the wood of the gazebo, and the way it falls on the surrounding trees with a loud _splat!_ on its leaves. Nearby, he can hear the characteristic sound of a puddle being disturbed.

He opens his eyes and instantly feels better.

(Unbeknownst to him, the man quickly drags his eyes away for fear of getting caught staring.)

As he gets his stuff out of his backpack, he can’t help sneaking a peak at the man across from him. He doesn’t seem to be that old, so maybe he’s a few years older than Yuuri? His eyes travel up farther, taking in the nimble movements of the man’s fingers and the way his hair dances in the breeze. He’s definitely attractive, there’s no denying that. Even the way he _sits_ brings a certain level of beauty and grace to it. It almost makes Yuuri feel like he’s been sitting the wrong way for years.

The man brings the canned drink to his lips, but on closer inspection it’s actually just iced tea. Okay, good, so the man’s not some weird alcoholic. Beside him, there’s a chocolate bar on the bench. Needless to say, it's a strange combination for a Tuesday morning.

 _Wait, have I seen him before_? He tries to remember if he has, but he’s pretty sure he’d remember seeing a man like that around Hasetsu. He shakes the thought away as soon as it comes.

He drops his gaze to the notebook in his lap. He turns to a fresh new page, picks up his pencil, and starts sketching. It’s nothing really significant at first. Just a drawing of a leaf, which then extends into five leaves, and then twenty, and then almost a hundred plus branches and a tree trunk and soon enough he’s already drawn a full-grown tree. He’s no Picasso, but at one point in his life he did consider pursuing a degree in art. But well, an art degree isn’t really sensible in this day and age and communications seemed more promising.

So here he is, a 23-year-old man with a communications degree, a lackluster skating career and not a single clue what he wants to do with his life. Funny how life works out like that.

His hand twitches, and then his pencil veers to the right instead of staying within the lines. He grabs his eraser and starts rubbing, but he rubs so hard that it bounces against the page and onto the ground. In fact it keeps bouncing, right up until it lands in another hand.

The man leans forward to hand him the eraser. “Here.”

Yuuri meets him halfway, palm open and fingers wrapping around the eraser. “Ah, thank you.”

The man smiles and goes back to staring at what Yuuri assumes must be the rain. He breaks off a piece from his chocolate bar, then takes a sip of his iced tea. _Is this person actually serious_ …?

“Isn’t it a bit too early for iced tea and chocolate?” The question leaves his mouth before he can even think about it.

The man blinks at him, mouth half open and clearly just as taken aback. It would almost be comical if not for the fact that Yuuri had just went and opened his big fat mouth.

“Ah! S-Sorry, I didn’t mean… just… forget about it,” Yuuri quickly mumbles. He can already feel a blush spreading from his cheeks to his neck.

It’s the longest minute of Yuuri’s life as they sit there in pure silence. The only sounds he can hear are the continuous fall of rain and the thunder now rumbling in the distance. He really wouldn’t mind being hit by some lightning right about now. It would make for a very convenient death.

But then the strangest thing happens. The man _laughs_.

And he keeps laughing. He doesn’t stop for at least a good five minutes.

Yuuri gapes in shock at the other man. He didn’t think he could make a sound like that, what with the way he was staring at the rain with the same disinterested look that Yuuri’s had for the past 3 months, as if to say, ‘What am I even doing here?’ But the more he hears it, the more Yuuri thinks, _I wouldn’t mind hearing that every day if it was at my own expense_. And then he blushes right down to his toes because where in the world had that thought come from?

He remembers that the man’s still laughing and Yuuri hasn’t exactly given an explanation for his unusually rude comment.

“Um,” he starts unintelligently.

The man’s laughter eventually dies down. He wipes at the corners of his eyes and looks at Yuuri with a smile that almost says, ‘Thank you, I really needed that.’

“Um,” Yuuri starts again, “I’m sorry, I really don’t mean to pry but…”

The man blinks at him, waiting. 

“…Have we met somewhere before?”

The thunder gets louder and the rain gets heavier. There’s a flash of lightning, and it brightens up the skies and illuminates the clouds overhead.  

The man’s smile falters. It’s still there, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes like it had five minutes ago. Before Yuuri can apologize _yet again_ for his intrusiveness, the man stands up and grabs his umbrella. All the while his eyes never leave Yuuri’s face.

“Questa storia che senso non ha,” the man says.

(This story has no meaning.)

“Svanirà questa notte assieme alle stele.”

(Will vanish tonight together with the stars.)

He walks past Yuuri and steps off the platform.

“Se potessi vederti dalla speranza nascerà l’eternità.”

(If I could see you, eternity will be born from hope.)

He gives Yuuri one last delicate smile before opening up his umbrella and walking out into the rain.

Yuuri stares after him. He wonders what kind of meaning those words must hold.

They must mean something, if they brought such a sad smile to the man’s face.  

 

* * *

 

Later that night as he’s watching the new skaters prepare for this upcoming season on the television, he asks his sister what the words mean. She’s always been good at that kind of stuff.

“Hah? What the heck is this?” Mari asks as she reads the gibberish in Yuuri’s handwriting. She turns the paper over as if it’ll help. “Is this a haiku?”

Yuuri shrugs. He’s never been good at literature.

Mari hands the paper back. “Sorry little bro, don’t think I can help you with that one. Maybe ask Minako-sensei?”

He leaves the paper on his desk that night, telling himself that he’ll look it up tomorrow.

****

 

**_Four days later._ **

 

He wakes up with a crick in his neck and a stiffness that travels all the way down his spine. His muscles ache right down to his bones, and not for the first time, he dreads going to Ice Castle.

He winces when he knocks his thigh against the wall. He pulls up his shorts to inspect the bruise that’s already blooming along his skin.

He’s been trying to choreograph some new routines lately, but he might have overdone it again with the jumps. Minako-sensei had practically squealed when Yuuri told her, having assumed that he had gotten over his funk and was thinking about competing again. Yuuri had neither denied nor confirmed her claims. Nothing’s really concrete or set in stone yet, not to mention this will be the first he’ll be choreographing.

By himself.

With no coach.

It really shouldn’t be anything new. Even when he was still doing ballet, he had always created his own routines. Not because he was a genius or anything, but because it was a way to pass the time when he didn’t feel like going through his dance positions or any of the more technical stuff. Eventually, he became pretty decent at it that he started making full-on routines that somehow transferred over to figure skating. But he usually had another set of eyes to observe and point out his mistakes.  

Well, the deadline to apply for the Grand Prix series is sometime around mid-August, so he’s got time. Right now, he has to work on nailing his jumps because he can only land the quadruple Salchow at least thirty percent of the time when he’s not in competition. His old coach, Celestino, had always said he’s been much better at step sequences than jumps. But step sequences alone aren’t enough to earn him a place on the podium. 

He sighs, but then brightens up when he hears a familiar sound against his window pane.

He throws off the covers and quickly gets changed. His sister yells at him on the stairs to help out with the cleaning, but when she sees the looks on his face, she already knows.

“Don’t come back too late,” Mari teases. Yuuri rolls his eyes and shoves her playfully.

“Are you at least going to bring your skates?” She asks.

Yuuri eyes the pair of skates in the corner by the umbrella stand. He’s tempted not to, and one day without practicing won’t kill him but he knows that if he doesn’t, he won’t be productive for the rest of the day.

Even back in Detroit, whenever it had rained he would always come late to practice. Not because he hated practice or anything. He still loves the ice as much as the first time he stepped on it. 

It’s just that sometimes, he loves the rain a little more.

Phichit, his old rink mate, jokingly calls it ‘The Rain Sickness’. But he of all people knows that the rain has always made things a little better. When the ice fails to calm Yuuri’s nerves and his mind is this close to falling apart, he can always count on the rain to pull him back together.

“Just bring them. It wouldn’t hurt, right?”

In the end, he does pack his skates.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri doesn’t quite frown when he sees the man again, but it’s close.

“Oh. Hello,” the man greets. It looks like he wasn’t expecting the company either. 

“Hello,” Yuuri mutters as he steps underneath the gazebo’s roof. He shakes out his umbrella before leaning it against the wooden post. This time, the man is already on the other side of the bench.

He doesn’t know how long they stay there as they get lost in the rain together. He thinks maybe an hour has passed, but he’s really not sure. The rain has always made him lose track of time.

He’s been drawing hands in various positions for a while, but he’s always had a tough time with hands. Feet are easy, because no one really cares about feet. Hands are a little more fickle. He glances over and sees the man’s hand wrapped around his can of iced tea. He studies it for a while, and then starts to draw the lines of his hand and the curve of his fingers. He feels a bit guilty for drawing the man without his permission, but it’s just a hand. And besides, it’s always much easier when there’s a reference available.  

“Hey.”

“ _Huh_?” Yuuri startles and covers up his notebook. He hadn’t seen it, had he?

The man leans forward. “No school today?”

Yuuri blinks at him before he understands what he’s trying to get at. “Oh, no. I’m—I’m not a high school student.” Had he really looked that young? Maybe it’s the glasses.

“Then... a college student perhaps?” Oh yeah, the man’s definitely a foreigner. Yuuri hadn’t really noticed it before when the man started spouting gibberish in another language at him, but now he hears it. He sounds European, but Yuuri can’t exactly place the accent.

“I… Yeah. I mean no! I mean, I _was_ a college student. But I… graduated,” Yuuri answers. For some reason, he can’t help feeling a bit flustered in the man’s presence. “And… what about you?” He asks hesitantly. “No work today?”

The man chuckles softly and looks down at the ground. He wiggles his feet. “I guess you could say I’m skipping work.”

And because Yuuri can’t help it, he adds, “And drinking iced tea and eating chocolate in the morning.”

The man chuckles again, most likely remembering Yuuri’s words from before. “And here I was, thinking I was get patronized by a _high school student_.”

Yuuri blushes darkly. “I-I’m sorry about before, I really didn’t mean to—”

The man waves him off. “No, no, it’s fine. I mean it’s quite understandable, right? I’m sure you don’t know many people who have iced tea and chocolate for breakfast.”

He can feel his blush receding a little. “Well, my ballet teacher likes to drink sake and eat raw seaweed, so I guess it’s not that weird?”

“Hmm, fair enough. I guess we all have our own quirks.” The man leans back in his seat. His eyes seem to catch on something by Yuuri’s bag, but Yuuri doesn’t notice the look that crosses his face.  

“Maybe it’s fitting,” the man says to himself.

“Eh?”

The man simply smiles as if nothing ever happened. It’s a very practiced smile, and Yuuri has a feeling he does that a lot.

“So you mentioned you had a ballet teacher. I’m assuming you’re a dancer?” He asks, cheerful once again.

“Uh, yeah,” Yuuri says, a little thrown off by the change in subjects. “I’ve been dancing since I was five.”

“Wow~ That’s quite impressive.”

He can already feel the blush coming back. “I-Is it? I didn’t think it was.”

“It is,” the man nods seriously. “I wish I could be that dedicated to something.”

“You mean you’ve never felt passionate about something before?” Yuuri asks. It’s a genuinely curious question, but it might have been the wrong one to ask because for a moment, he thinks he sees a quick flash of pain in the man’s eyes.

“Perhaps at one point in my life,” the man sighs out in a slightly wistful voice.

They lapse into silence for a while. Yuuri’s left wondering whether he should pick up the conversation again or just leave the man to his own thoughts. He looks like he needs it, and so Yuuri doesn’t say anything further.

Thirty minutes pass without them saying another word to each other. Yuuri decides it’s probably time for him to leave, because Ice Castle can get pretty crowded around the afternoon time (although he’d hardly call ten people a crowd). He starts packing up his belongings.

“Leaving for skating practice already?” The man asks.

“Yeah, I am,” Yuuri answers, wondering when he had told the man he was a figure skater. Although with the way his skates are sticking out of his bag from being carelessly thrown in there, it probably wasn’t hard to guess.

“Well then. Perhaps we’ll see each other again when it’s raining.”

 

 

**_Two weeks later._ **

 

And just like the man said, they start to see other more often as the rainy season progresses.

On some rainy days they talk, and other days they sit in comfortable silence under the gazebo together. But little by little, they both find themselves opening up to each other like flowers after the rain. They’re probably what most people would call ‘late-bloomers’.   

They talk about the simple things, like how Yuuri used to have a poodle named Vicchan (but doesn’t mention how Vicchan died right before one of the biggest figure skating competitions of his non-existent career). The man shows him a picture of his own dog, this one a full-grown poodle of the same breed as Vicchan. His name happens to be Makkachin, and the man promises to introduce him to Yuuri one day.  

The man reveals that he’s fluent in three different languages, but doesn’t reveal which ones.

Yuuri mentions how he had transitioned from ballet to figure skating, but is amateur at best. The man says he doesn’t believe that but will look for Yuuri on TV if he ever happens to make it that far.

(He did, but he’s not about to tell the man he got 6th place at a major figure skating competition.)

Occasionally, the man will bring coffee in place of his iced tea.

Eventually, he starts bringing coffee for Yuuri too.

In turn, Yuuri makes sandwiches and elaborate bento boxes, because the man looks far too skinny for his liking and he definitely needs more than just iced tea, chocolate and coffee in his diet. The man’s also just a terrible cook in general and Yuuri kind of takes pity on him. 

When it’s not raining and the sun is shining bright enough to give Yuuri a headache, he runs to Ice Castle a little slower than usual. He skates, but he doesn’t put much heart or effort into it. The rain makes him unproductive, but the sun just makes him lazy.

He still helps around his family’s inn, he dances at Minako-sensei’s studio, and then he goes through all of the motions again, wondering:

_When will it rain next?_

 

* * *

 

“Wow~ What’s this?” The man asks excitedly. He’s practically bouncing in his seat.

Yuuri tries to hide his smile as he digs in his backpack for a pair of extra chopsticks. “It’s called Katsudon.”

“Kat-su-don,” the man says to himself, sounding out all the words and letting them roll off his tongue in one go.

“It’s basically rice with strips of pork cutlet. You can add whatever you want, but usually my mom adds egg, some vegetables, peppers…” Yuuri lists off all the ingredients, but he realizes the man isn’t listening. He’s still staring at his food with the wonder of a small child.

“So you made this?” The man asks later. His empty bowl lies on the bench next to him.  

“I did, but it’s got nothing on my mom’s.” He’s almost about to say, ‘You should come to my family’s inn and try it,’ but he squashes down the thought immediately. He doesn’t even know the man’s name, let alone his age or what his actual food preferences are. He can’t just simply invite a stranger into his own home whom he only happens to meet on rainy days.

“Is it your favorite?”

“It is, but I try not to eat it often. It's not really ideal food for figure skaters.”

"Is that so?" The man hums in interest. 

“That and because I gain weight easily,” Yuuri explains.  

“Really? You don’t look like a person who packs on weight easily,” the man says as he looks over Yuuri’s frame. 

He tries not to fidget even though he feels like he’s being put under a microscope right now. “Well then you should have seen me at Sochi last year. A lot of things happened at once, and then I ended up binge eating before a competition and could barely fit into my costume. It was pretty bad actually.”

“Oh? You were at a competition in Sochi?” There’s something suggestive about his question, but Yuuri can’t quite place what it is. It’s like the man knows what Yuuri’s referring to but is purposely being obtuse about it. He decides not to pursue that line of thought.

It’s then that Yuuri realizes that he’s never told anyone about his loss at last year’s Grand Prix Final. This is probably the first time he’s chosen to voluntarily talk about it, as everyone knows he lost but doesn’t know how he feels about it. Minako-sensei’s been pestering him about it for a while, and sometimes Yuuko looks like she wants to ask but she never really says anything in the end. Takeshi just kind of leaves him to it, and his family doesn’t really intrude on his personal life unless he explicitly tells them to.

And yet here he is, about to tell everything to a complete stranger whom he just happened so meet on a random Tuesday morning in the rain.

“It was just, you know, a small-time competition. Nothing huge or anything. I don’t even think it was on TV.” Okay, so that’s complete bullshit, but he’s praying the man is as clueless about figure skating as the rest of Hasetsu is.  

“Did you end up winning?”

A strong breeze comes their way, causing the rain to fall at a diagonal angle. 

“No,” Yuuri answers after a while. He’s almost afraid his words will get carried along with the wind. “I didn’t.”

Sheets of water fly off the gazebo’s roof, creating the effect of a mini waterfall. The water keeps falling and falling and it kind of seems like some weird symbolism for Yuuri’s failure of a skating career.

“But it’s okay!” He says, sounding far too upbeat even to his own ears. He doesn’t want to get lost in his past failures right now. “Like I said, it was just a small competition so it wouldn’t have mattered if I won or lost.”

The man doesn’t quite look like he believes him, but he lets it be.

They both let the sound of the rain fill up the silence between them.

“You know,” the man starts off carefully, and Yuuri immediately groans into his hands.

“Please, don’t,” comes his muffled voice. “You really don’t need to console me. It honestly wasn’t that big of a deal. I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this when you’re just a stranger and you could probably care less.” 

There’s a pause, and then, “I was just going to _say_ , small competition or not, a loss is still loss. I’m sure it still must have hurt in the end.”

Ever so slowly, Yuuri lifts his face from his hands. Blue eyes meet brown, and to his surprise, there’s no sign of pity in them. If anything, it’s understanding, like he knows what it’s like to work so hard for something, only to fall so far in the end.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? As naïve as it sounds, Yuuri always thought he’d be in figure skating forever. He may have been a bit of a latecomer to the scene, as he’s been dancing for far longer and only just picked up ice skating when he turned fifteen. He didn’t even make his senior debut until just last year, and then proceeded to fuck up every single competition after that. At this point, his figure skating career isn’t even a career. He still doesn’t know if it truly has a place in his future anymore.

So where the _hell_ does he go from here?

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m thirty and I still fail at a lot of things.”

Well, at least Yuuri knows how old he is now. That’s something.

“But I’m twenty-three,” Yuuri tries to reason.

“And you still have lots of time to make mistakes.” The man smiles softly at him, and for some reason, he looks much older than he ever has before. “Don’t worry too much,” he says, his voice so tender that it does something to Yuuri’s insides. 

And yet, Yuuri can’t help worrying anyways.

****

 

**_One week later._ **

 

One whole week goes by without any rain. Everything sucks. He’s antsy and restless and he keeps flubbing all of his jumps and his muscles hurt and June’s almost over and—

“Why don’t you just look for a job or something?” Mari says in a bored tone. She’s flipping through this week’s newspaper.

Yuuri jabs at her kneecap from underneath the table. “Why don’t you look for a nice man to bring home? Mom and dad aren’t getting any younger.”

“Find me a man first and then we’ll talk.” She takes a puff from her cigarette before tapping it on the ash tray. “Go practice at Ice Castle if you’re so restless. I can hear you thinking from over here.”

Yuuri thumps his forehead on the table. “Don’t wanna,” he mutters.

He really doesn’t want to, but he knows he should. If he wants any chance at redeeming himself at this year’s Grand Prix, then he’s going to have to get his act together.

At least that’s what he’s been telling himself ever since he returned home, but the truth is that he has no idea if he even wants to enter this year’s competition. Since he failed at almost every single competition following Sochi and couldn’t even qualify for any of the remaining competitions of the season, he’s going to have to compete in a local competition in order to qualify for the Grand Prix. Which means he needs to be ready by September. Which means he needs to actually develop his programs and find music and costumes and oh god what about a new coach—

Oh hell. What’s the point in even worrying over something that might not actually happen? He says he wants to compete again, but he hasn’t done _jack shit_. If he was really serious about this whole thing, then he wouldn’t be where he is right now. And he most certainly wouldn’t be skipping out on practice whenever it rains to go and speak to a slightly attractive stranger.

“Do you really want to go into figure skating?” Mari asks all of a sudden.

Yuuri lifts his head and rests his chin on the table. “I don’t know. Do _you_ really want to stay single forever?” He’s being childish, he knows that, but what Mari’s asking is a very serious question and he can’t handle seriousness right now. He can’t handle anything. He just wants it to fucking rain. 

“Little bro, you wound me,” Mari says in a not very wounded voice. She inhales deeply, and then blows smoke directly into Yuuri’s face. He wrinkles his nose, hardly affected by the smell anymore.

“If I get lung cancer from your second-hand smoke, I’m blaming you.”

“You’ve been breathing in my second-hand smoke for ten years now. I think you’re fine.”

 

* * *

 

Just to make himself feel even worse, he FaceTimes Phichit later that night. It’s 8 a.m. in Detroit right now, so he knows Phichit’s already hard at practice. He also knows that the sight of his old rink will make his stomach twist in ways that he wishes it wouldn’t.

“Yuuri! It’s so good to see you, how are you?” Phichit waves at the screen with his gloved hand.

“I’m good.” He positions his pillows against the bed’s headboard before leaning back with his laptop. “Sorry, was I interrupting your practice?”

“Not really, I just finished going over my programs with Celestino!”

“Ah, right. You must be pretty busy now.” He forgot that Phichit’s competing in his first Grand Prix this year.

“Not busy enough that I can’t FaceTime my best friend though!" 

“Ehhhh. I’m so honored!”

“I’m serious! Detroit’s really not the same without you,” he pouts.

“And yet Detroit’s still standing. But enough about me, tell me about your programs! What kind of music have you chosen? Do you have your costumes yet?”

“Yes and almost! I’ve got the costume for my short program almost done. But…”

As Phichit rambles on, Yuuri can’t help thinking how this could have been him right now. But he squashes down the feeling as soon it comes, because there’s no use feeling bitter when he knows he should just be happy for the Thai skater. It’s not his fault he’s competing and Yuuri isn’t. He’s always showed more promise when it came to skating anyways.

****

 

**_July._ **

 

“You know, I always see you sketching in that notebook of yours but I’ve never actually seen any of your drawings.”

Yuuri shrugs one shoulder as he fixes up the lines on a building he’s trying to draw. “There’s really not much to see.”

“Really?” The man asks, drawing out the word.

“Really,” he echoes back.  

The man rests his cheek on the palm of his hand. “You’re not some famous artist that I don’t know about, are you?”

At that, Yuuri laughs. “I promise you, if I was a famous artist I’m sure you’d recognize me.”

“Not if I’ve never seen any of your work!” The man gives a pointed look at the notebook in Yuuri’s lap.

He rolls his eyes. “Okay then, I’ll make you a deal.”

The man sits up straighter. “A deal?” He gasps out.

“Yes, _a deal_.” Yuuri closes his notebook. “I’ll show you my notebook _if_ —” The man leans forward in anticipation “—You tell me something about yourself.”

The man leans back. “Something about myself?” He repeats blandly. He makes it sound like Yuuri’s asking him to dye his hair purple.  

“Yes, and not something like ‘my favorite color is pink’ or—”

“Actually, my favorite color is—”

“Or the fact that you can’t cook to save your life—”

“Hey!” The man cries out, slightly affronted. “I can cook somewhat!”

Yuuri gives him a look that says _Really?_ “Your egg rolls had egg shells in them,” he reminds him.

“I’m still learning,” he sniffs.

“Uh-huh.” Yuuri smiles.

“Can’t I just see your drawings?” He practically whines.

“Tell me something about yourself and _then_ I’ll show you.” He opens up his notebook and continues to draw. He waits, but two minutes go by and the man has yet to say a word. Yuuri almost starts to feel bad. He considers lying and saying it was just a joke, but then the man beats him to it.

“I’ve… always wanted to be a figure skater,” he confesses quietly.

Yuuri’s pencil freezes on the page. He looks up and expects to meet blue eyes like he always does, but the man’s head is turned and his eyes are unusually focused on the rain. There’s a light dusting of red on his cheeks, and the situation is so reversed because isn’t Yuuri the one who normally gets so flustered? He’s pretty sure this is the first time he’s seen the man blush like this.

It’s kind of nice when things are the other way around for once.

“Did you ever do it then?”

The man scrunches up his eyebrows. “Do what?”

“Become a figure skater?”

He chews on the inside of his cheek. For a moment, Yuuri doesn’t think he’ll respond and that he’s pushed the man as far as he can go. People do have their limits after all.

“I think somewhere along the way… I forgot how to.”

It’s such a vague and unusual answer that Yuuri doesn’t really know what to make of it. He wants to press further, but it really does look like the man’s reached his limit.

Yuuri scoots a little closer until their knees are about a hair’s breadth apart. He takes his notebook and gently places it in the man’s lap. “Thank you,” Yuuri says earnestly. He pokes at the man’s hand. “I’m glad you told me that.” In response, the man pokes back with his pinky. He looks slightly more relieved to be done with the previous line of questioning.

For the next ten minutes, he handles Yuuri’s notebook with the utmost care. He’ll only touch the corners of each page, and he’s careful not to leave any marks, smudges or dents.

“These are beautiful,” the man breathes out every time he turns to a new page.

Yuuri ducks his head in embarrassment, but deep down he can’t help preening at the man’s praise. “You’ve already said that.”

“I know, but seriously these are…” He tries to search for another word besides ‘beautiful’, but in the end he just calls them beautiful. By the time he’s finished, he’s staring at Yuuri like the first time he saw the bowl of Katsudon in his lap.

(Yuuri doesn’t know how he feels about being equated to his favorite dish.)

“You know you could really make something out of this,” the man says, waving the notebook in the air.

Yuuri chews on his bottom lip. “It’s… just a hobby, really.”

“No, I’m serious.” And he is. Terribly so in fact. “You have real talent, and I wish you’d believe in yourself more.” As he’s passing back the notebook, he catches Yuuri’s hand in his. He tugs him in close, and it causes Yuuri to stagger forward a bit. It really leaves him with nowhere else to run.

“I’m sure whatever it is you decide to do with your future, you’ll make the right choice.”

Yuuri’s skin jumps under the man’s hand. He prays the man doesn’t feel his pulse, because that would just be embarrassing.

There’s so much confidence held in those very words, and Yuuri… doesn’t know how to feel about that. No one’s ever really told him something like that before. It’s not like his family and friends were never supportive of him or his failed skating career. They’ve always cheered him on, and they’ve never held any unusually high expectations of him. They kind of just accept him as he is, which is more than enough for Yuuri. 

But this person.

This person _believes_ in him, and Yuuri hardly even knows him! He doesn’t know what’s the right way to feel about this situation, but what he does know is that in this very moment, there’s a warmth spreading all throughout his body. It makes his head and his heart feel lighter, _freer_. Like he can do anything he sets his mind to.

Just then, the skies open up overhead, and the gazebo is showered in a mixture of rain and light. The man’s still holding his hand, and they’re closer than Yuuri would like, but he can’t quite bring himself to pull away just yet.

He doesn’t know what this feeling is, but Yuuri’s determined to keep it for as long as he can.

 

 

**_August._ **

 

July concludes with an endless amount of sunshine and heat. His body is constantly sticky, and he can’t think with all this humidity in the air and the sweat on his skin.

The rainy season is officially over.

Which means he has no excuse to go back to that gazebo.

Sometimes when he’s out on one of his runs, he’ll purposely change his route to include the outside perimeter of Hasetsu Castle. It usually doesn’t amount to much, because the man’s like him.

He only shows up on rainy days.

So in the meantime, Yuuri transitions between working and skating. He tries to get various part-time jobs, but none of them really amount to anything and he ends up working at his family’s inn for the rest of the summer. He saves up enough money to buy a few things, like new workout clothes and a pair of sneakers. He even gets the blades on his skates re-sharpened. It’s a pretty productive month if Yuuri’s being honest, and his jumps are improving greatly. He can now land a quadruple Salchow eighty-five percent of the time, and he asks Yuuko to record it with his phone so he can see what’s he doing wrong and what he needs to fix.

He’s able to crank out a bunch of different routines, all filled with various step sequences and jumps and spins. Nothing’s really put together yet, and his routines obviously still need work, but he’s making more progress than he did in the previous months. He tries to formulate a different story for each one, but there’s far too many for him to keep track of and in the end, he just creates one big story that tries to incorporate all of his routines. It has something to do with a playboy and his lover, or maybe it’s the other way around, he’s not sure. But it’s about loss and love, and about finding yourself again. He doesn’t know how he’s going to fit it all in, but he’ll make it work somehow.

But all this productivity is just a mask to hide the longing in his heart, for days when the rain would fall and he could make mindless conversation with a mysterious white-haired man. 

It doesn’t really hit him until he’s going through one of his routines later, and he realizes: he really knows nothing about the man. All Yuuri knows is that:

  1. He’s a terrible cook
  2. He likes iced tea and chocolate but will eat just about anything
  3. He’s thirty years old
  4. He’s fluent in three different languages, but won’t say which ones
  5. He owns a poodle named Makkachin, who happens to be of the same breed as Vicchan
  6. He wanted to be a figure skater (but never really could?)
  7. And he likes rainy days just as much as Yuuri does



Okay, so he knows a total of seven things about the man. It’s more than what he first started out with, but those aren’t the important things. Important things would be knowing his name, where he’s originally from, where he even lives right now. For all Yuuri knows, he could just be a tourist on an over-extended vacation.

 _Or he’s a weirdo_.

No, he’s not a weirdo.

 _Are you sure_?

Of course I’m sure!

_How would **you** know? You barely even knew him._

Well… neither did you!

_Ah, but you forget something: I’m you, remember?_

The heel of his skate catches on the ice, and he almost trips and falls right on his face. He makes the executive decision to stop, and he skates over to the barrier. He grips it tightly. Sucks in a sharp breath. This won’t do. This won’t do at all. 

He can’t keep thinking like this, because his mind’s going to go crazy if he doesn’t stop thinking of all the could have’s and should have’s. What’s done is done. If he really wanted to know the man, he would have gathered up his courage a long time ago and done so.  

_But you didn’t._

Yes, I know I didn’t!

_But did you really? Or did you think you could depend on the rain forever?_

_Yes_ , a deeper part of his mind tells him. He really _did_ think he could depend on the rain to maintain that bond between them. But in reality, he always knew the rainy season would come to an end. It was inevitable, a fragile bond to begin with. And yet he still couldn’t help feeling charmed by this mysterious stranger.

_So what happened? Just because the rain stopped didn’t mean your bond had to as well._

No, it didn’t. So why? Why did he never ask for the man's name?

 _Perhaps for the same reason the man never asked you_.

 

* * *

 

In another part of town, just a little bit farther from Yuuri’s own home, a certain white-haired man lies in bed with the air-con on full blast. The cool air is a sweet relief from the heat, but he can’t stay in bed forever. He should at least make something to eat.

Although according to a certain black-haired, brown-eyed figure skater slash artist in the making, his egg rolls often have egg shells in them.

He quietly chuckles to the ceiling.

It’s been one whole month since he’s seen the Japanese man, which is the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other. He keeps telling himself that Hasetsu is in a temporary drought, but the reality is that the rainy season in Japan has officially ended. There’ll be no more rainy days when he can just sit on the L-shaped bench under the gazebo and make small-talk with a person whom he barely knows.

He should have gotten his name at least. That would have been more helpful than just calling him _that Japanese man_ in his head.

But a smaller part of him had told him to stay away, to not get too involved. After all, the Japanese man is a figure skater, and he can’t be associating himself with a failure like Viktor Nikiforov.

Most people would say that being a five-time World _and_ Grand Prix champion isn’t considered a failure by any means whatsoever, but those people also don’t know Viktor at all.

They know he’s a five-time consecutive champion in numerous competitions.

What they don’t know is how much he hates having that title branded on him.

They know he’s basically considered a prodigy by the whole country of Russia.

What they don’t know is how anxious that makes him feel, to be the backbone of his own country when there are plenty of up and coming figure skaters. Like Yuri Plisetsky for example.

They know that a blown-out knee during the World Championships was what caused his retirement three years prior.

What they don’t know is how he kept swallowing down the pain meds as if they were candy. Or how he would wash it all down with alcohol. Or when Yakov nearly had a heart attack after finding him collapsed on his apartment floor.

It’s a carefully covered up story that, for the first time, the media doesn’t know about. If asked about it though, his story is that his blown-out knee caused him to undergo an intense rehabilitation process that lasted almost two years. He’s spent the past year regaining his life back and is considering becoming a coach for the next generation of skaters.

Most of it is true, with a few tweaks here and there. He did go to rehab, but mainly for the pain meds and alcohol that were destroying his body day by day. He is not, however, considering a career in coaching. He’s been out of the game for three years now, so he’s pretty out of touch with most of the skating community except for maybe Chris, Mila, Georgi and Yuri. He hasn’t set foot in an ice rink since he moved to this quiet sea-side town, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get the courage to do so.

So no, coaching is definitely out of the question no matter how many times Yuri asks him to. The fifteen-year-old keeps going on and on about choreographing his senior debut program, but it’s like Victor keeps telling him:

He’s not the same person he used to be. 

He’s thirty years old, his body has drastically changed for the worst, and he’s got a blown-out knee that sometimes gives out on him at random parts of the day. He doesn’t know what part of him Yuri thinks can be a coach, because every single part of him has been broken and taped back together so many times. It’s a wonder that metaphorical tape has lasted him this long.

On the floor by his bed, Makkachin whines and paws at the bedsheets, probably sensing Viktor’s sudden distress.

He reaches over the side to scratch Makkachin’s head. “Yes, yes, I hear you. I’m okay, I’m okay boy,” Viktor reassures in quiet murmurs.

The more rational part of his mind asks him, _But are you really_?

 

 

**_Five days later._ **

 

“I’ve just heard from Celestino that Phichit’s already signed up for the Grand Prix Final,” Minako brings up one day. “He should be getting his assignments soon.”

“Oh, really?” Yuuri pretends to not know what she’s talking about as he bends down to stretch, but he knows. Phichit had texted him the other day with a string of various emojis that Yuuri could barely comprehend. It was a pretty garbled message, but he got the gist of it. So yeah, he knows.

“So?” From the mirror, he sees his teacher place her hands on her hips with an expectant look on her face. “Have _you_ signed up?”

He notices the empty space she leaves at the end, the missing ‘yet’ that she doesn’t think to add. He’s grateful for that.

“I haven’t,” he answers, because it’s true. He’s been putting it off, but the deadline’s coming up soon and if he wants to be part of this year’s season, then he’s going to have to make a decision. Fast.  

She sighs. “Have you even made up your programs yet?”

He has, actually. He’s got his short and free programs down, he’s got the music chosen, and he was even able to get his costumes through the help of Celestino. He’s basically all set. He just has to sign up.

He forgets that Minako’s still waiting, so he hums out a yes and places his leg on the ballet barre. He does a side stretch, and then switches to the other side.

“ _Yu-uri_.”

“Hmmm?”

“Don’t ‘hmmm’ me! Are you going to sign up or not?”

Yuuri puts his other leg up and goes through the same side stretches. Is he going to sign up? He has no idea. He doesn’t even know if he’ll make it through the qualifying competitions first. It’s very possible that he could screw up and not even place on the podium again, and that would just be another blow to his already low self-esteem. He doesn’t think he can handle another loss, because if he does happen to make it all the way through, then there’s no going back. This will be it, his final figure skating season. He’s only twenty-three, but he’s also _only twenty-three_. He’s going to be twenty-four this coming November, which means he’s already nearing the age where most figure skaters retire early on.

Yuuri finishes his stretches and stares at Minako’s reflection. “Don’t worry about it, okay?” He says, not quite pleading. But he’s tired, and he can’t think about this right now. He just wants to dance.

Minako continues to stare at him, but Yuuri holds his ground on this one. Eventually she throws her hands up in the air with an exasperated noise.

“Arggh! Fine, fine, you win! Now go on, get dancing. I don’t have all day. I’m an old woman, remember?” 

 

 

**_September._ **

 

“You haven’t given me an answer.”

“You already know my answer.”

“No, _I don’t_.”

“Yura—”

“Vitya.”

Viktor sighs on his end. He’s been expecting this phone call for a while now. By now, Yuri should already know his Grand Prix assignments.

“Yura, you know I can’t just simply buy a plane ticket and leave. I have to figure out what I’m going to do with Makkachin—”

“Just get one of your neighbors to look after him.”

“And I would need someone to come and water the plants—”

“What plants? You don’t _own_ any plants.”

“As a matter of fact, I do. And then there’s the problem of—”

“ _Viktor._ ”

He stops. He’s making up excuses, he knows that.

“….If you don’t want to come, you can just say so.”

Viktor closes his eyes with a pained noise. “Oh, of course I want to come. You know I do, but—”

“I know, I know. I get it you old geezer, you don’t have to explain.”

He doesn’t, and for that, he’s forever grateful to Yakov. But it’s still no excuse. If there’s one person Viktor probably loves more than his own dog, it’s Yuri. He’s like the little brother Viktor never had, who stuck by him even when he did hit his lowest point. Yuri’s been nothing but supportive of him.

So shouldn’t Viktor return the favor?

This will be Yuri’s senior debut. He’ll be playing with the big dogs from now on, and if anything, Viktor should at least fly out for _one_ of his competitions. He was already thinking about flying out to China to visit Christophe anyways, so it shouldn’t be that hard, right? He’ll only be watching, nothing more.

But watching is what might kill him, might make him want to vomit all over the floor and scream for something, _anything_ , to wash down the pain and anxiety and the other feelings he’s been trying to suppress for the past three years.

This is precisely why he can’t be a coach.

“Viktor?” Yuri calls out when the other man falls eerily silent.

“What were your assignments again?”

“…Skate Canada and the Rostelecom Cup,” Yuri replies slowly.

His breath nearly shudders in his chest. Does he dare set foot in Russia again?

“Okay. So which one would you prefer me at?” He thinks he already knows the answer, but just to be sure, he asks anyways.

“….”

“Yuri?”

“Russia,” the younger skater says, his voice so small that Viktor would give anything to reach through the phone and ruffle his hair. Mila had said he was growing it out, but to what extent, Viktor has no idea.

Sometimes he forgets that Yuri’s only fifteen and is still trying to figure out who he is and what he wants to be. Being a teenager is hard like that.

“Alright,” Viktor decides, trying not to let the pain and fear bleed through, “Then Russia it is.”

When they both hang up and there’s left nothing but silence in Viktor’s apartment, he heads to his closet and almost rips the door off its hinges. Staring back at him are the numerous medals he’s won over the years. They gleam at him as if mocking him, and like always, he can feel the bile rising in his throat. He quickly shuts the door and leans his forehead against it.

_Breathe. Breathe. You’re not competing anymore. You’re just watching others doing the competing. So just breathe goddammit._

 

 

**_November._ **

 

Eventually, everyone around him stops asking about his future.

They don’t have to anymore, not when they can watch him on TV and see for themselves.

(In the end, Yuuri had just said, “Fuck it,” and sent in his confirmation to the ISU.)

Needless to say, his short program for the Cup of China had been a success even without the presence of a coach. Minako-sensei wouldn’t stop talking about how much _eros_ he had exuded, although he’d say Chris had outdone him in that area.

“No, no, it was very _sensual_ Yuuri!” Minako had tried to reassure. “You really embodied the playboy chasing after his lover. I was so impressed! And your costume’s amazing by the way!”

(Yuuri chooses not to comment on this, because he doesn’t want to think about a certain stranger under a gazebo in the rain.)

He hadn’t really thought about winning at the time. He just wanted to secure a good spot that could balance out his free program, because that’s where it counted the most.

Turns out the universe had other plans for him.

It’s fine though. So he’s in first place, big deal! At least for now, he’s safely at the top with more than enough buffer room to keep him afloat. Except he’s never been in first place before and no, the qualifying rounds do not count even though he dominated because that was just a qualifier and this is the real deal. This time it actually counts towards something.

He’s also beyond exhausted, because _of course_ when it’s the night before his free program, his mind decides to go into a downward spiral. _Of fucking course_.

“You look awful,” is the first thing Phichit says to him.

“You mean awfully gorgeous of course,” Chris says from behind him. He shrugs apologetically at Yuuri.

Yuuri’s smile is tighter than usual, because even he knows he doesn’t look like he’s at his best. Like he’s ready to _win_.

And, _god_ , what if it’s like Sochi all over again and he completely bombs? That was what had happened the last time after all. He was doing pretty okay, and then he had mentally self-destructed and ended up in 6th place. And then he failed at Nationals and couldn’t even qualify for the Four Continents and Worlds.

It also doesn’t help that Beijing is way past its rainy season, which means there’s nothing that can calm his slowly unraveling nerves. Although that’s beside the point right now.

“Hey.” A foot gently knocks his.

Yuuri looks up from where he’s tightening his laces for the third time in a row. He takes out his earplugs.

Phichit smiles down at him. “Come on, Guang Hong’s almost done skating. Let’s go and watch.”

Yuuri frowns. If Guang Hong’s almost done, then that means Chris will be up next. “Aren’t you after Chris though?”

Phichit waves him off. “It’s fine, it’s fine! I’ve already run through my stretches. Now let’s go,” he says, pulling Yuuri out of his chair with a little more force than necessary.

“I want to see Chris break every woman’s vag—”

“aaaHHHHH okay, okay! Please don’t continue with that sentence!” Yuuri flails, face beet red.

Phichit snickers and lightly boops Yuuri on the nose. “Still such a blushing virgin.”

“I don’t want to hear that from _you_!”

They continue like this as they walk out of the waiting area. At one point Phichit playfully shoves at him, and so Yuuri, like any good friend, shoves back. He almost forgets about the fact that he’s in first place and is the main person to beat right now. Phichit’s a good friend like that.

Chris walks straight towards them from the opposite direction, no doubt getting ready for his own program. His coach and another person are behind him, but Yuuri isn’t paying attention because Phichit almost hip-checks him into the rink’s barrier and a worker ends up glaring at him for that.

“Ah, sorry,” Yuuri apologizes sheepishly. Phichit snickers into his hand, and then hip-checks him _again._ “Oh my god, would you please cut that out?!”

As he gets closer, Chris shakes his head at the two’s antics. “Yu~uri, this is why other skaters can’t take you seriously as a competitor,” he says once he’s within hearing distance.

“I didn’t ask for this!” Yuuri wails.

“Chris, good luck!” Phichit says, ignoring Yuuri’s protests.

“Merci.” Chris winks at them as he walks past. Behind him, a man with silver hair follows.

Wait.

_Wait._

_Wait just a damn second._

Yuuri almost gives himself whiplash from spinning around so fast.

A pair of wide blue eyes meet brown, and for a moment, Yuuri can do nothing but stare. Like he had the first day he found this strange man in the rain. 

“ _Viktor Nikiforov_?!” Phichit nearly shrieks.

Viktor Nikiforov?

Nikiforov?

Viktor?

“You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me,” Yuuri says upon recognizing the name.

The man—or, well, Viktor—is also clearly in shock, but it’s probably more from hearing Yuuri drop the f-bomb than anything else.

Yuuri probably wouldn’t have recognized him if not for his hair, which is now neatly swept back and carefully combed. He’s wearing a brown overcoat with a soft grey turtleneck underneath, which is such a stark contrast compared to his usual v-neck shirt and sweatpants. His slacks are pristine, and his leather loafers practically scream _branded_.

He looks expensive.

He also looks nothing like the man Yuuri’s come to know this past summer.

“Oh my god. _Ohmygodohmygodohygod_.” Phichit, on the other hand, looks like he’s about to faint on the spot.

In the background, Guang Hong’s song ends and the audience gives a standing ovation for China’s sweetheart. 

“Well, I guess that’s me,” Chris cuts in. He gives Viktor a weird look, then whispers something in his ear before heading to the rink with his coach.

They all just kind of stand there in dumbfound silence.

“Could I have your autograph?” Phichit squeaks out.

Viktor blinks rapidly. It takes a while for him to fully comprehend Phichit’s request. “Oh, of course,” he replies smoothly. He searches in his pockets for a pen, then turns to one of the workers nearby and asks in very stilted Chinese.

Of course he knows Chinese. Why wouldn’t he?

“Oh my god, I’m going to get an autograph from _the_ Viktor Nikiforov!” Phichit whispers, gripping Yuuri’s arm to remind himself that this wasn’t a dream. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice that Yuuri’s mind has basically stopped working altogether.

“Uh-huh,” Yuuri manages to get out, but Phichit’s already sauntering over towards Viktor.

“And who should I make this out to?” Viktor asks politely. There’s none of that smooth charm that’s usually so characteristic of the five-time World Champion. He looks a bit dazed in fact.

“Phichit Chulanont!” The Thai skater chirps happily. He almost faints again when he receives the autograph from his beloved idol. Yuuri would know after all.

When they were still living together in college, Phichit’s side of the room had been filled to the brim with posters of Viktor Nikiforov. He was always talking about the figure skater, so Yuuri made it a point to at least know some of the basics for a new figure skater such as himself. He knew Viktor was one of the top skaters in Russia, followed by Georgi Popovich and Mila Babicheva. He was mainly known for his signature quadruple flip which almost no one could land cleanly in competition. He was a five-time Grand Prix Champion, and had won numerous medals at Nationals, the European Championships, Worlds, and even the Olympics.

Yuuri got so used to seeing those posters on a daily basis that he never really gave them a second glance anymore. At least until he came back to their dorm to find Phichit lying in the fetal position on their floor. That day, he learned the very extensive backstory of how the great Viktor Nikiforov had injured his knee during the World Championships. He had still won gold, but then he suddenly dropped off the face of the earth and hadn’t been seen or heard from since. And Phichit had just come across the news article an hour before.   

After that, Yuuri had helped Phichit take down all of his posters and burned them in honor of the legendary figure skater. Phichit still mentioned him from to time, but without the posters to remind him, Yuuri had forgotten what the Russian figure skater looked like. By then, Yuuri became so focused on his own skating career that Viktor Nikiforov dropped out of his mind completely.

Phichit had said there were a lot of conspiracy theories out there at the time of Viktor’s disappearance, and a lot of people didn’t seem to believe that he was just undergoing rehab for his knee. Apparently, it was a pretty serious injury that took him out of the game completely, but not serious enough to warrant two years of rehab.

And now here he was, in the flesh.

Un- _fucking_ -believable.

“Phichit!” Celestino’s voice carries over to them. “Christophe’s going to take the ice soon!”

Phichit gives a thumbs up and then turns to Yuuri. “Hey, if I don’t see you before your free skate…” He folds Yuuri into a tight hug and squeezes. “Good luck, okay?” He murmurs into his ear.

Yuuri squeezes right back and tries to ignore the weight of those blue eyes on him. “Thanks, and good luck to you too!”

Phichit gives him one final squeeze before letting go. He thanks Viktor for the autograph with a little more grace than before, and then he heads off towards Celestino.  

Which leaves just Yuuri and Viktor.

A few people walk by, thankfully oblivious to the tension in the air between them. After what seems like forever, Viktor sighs and lets his whole body go with the motion. He looks thirty years too tired.

“I know you have to skate soon, but… do you want to go somewhere more quiet?”

 

* * *

 

An underground parking lot seems to be the best option at the moment.

It’s far enough away that they can have some semblance of privacy, but not too far that Yuuri can’t make it back upstairs in time. He just hopes he doesn’t get back too late, because there’s barely any phone signal down here and he has no way of knowing when it’ll be his turn.

He startles when he hears what sounds like loud cheering from above. That must mean Chris is just heading out onto the ice. Huh. It occurs to Yuuri that maybe that’s why Viktor had chosen this particular spot.

“I… guess I have a lot of explaining to do,” Viktor starts off sheepishly. He runs a hand through his hair and leaves it wrapped around the base of his neck. It must be a nervous tick of his, because Viktor hadn’t stopped doing it as they were walking down here. His hair’s kind of wrecked now, but it’s starting to look more like his natural style.

Yuuri eyes him warily. He’s not quite angry. He’s just confused.

“Yeah, _you do_.” Okay, yeah, he’s pretty angry. And Viktor seems to take the hint just fine. 

“I’m guessing you know about my injury?”

Yuuri shrugs indifferently. “A little, not much.” He knows what Viktor’s trying to do: he’s trying to feel out the situation, to see how much Yuuri really knows. It’s a way of stalling.

“Ah, right. Well…” He’s trying to look at anywhere but Yuuri. It’d be endearing if they were in any other situation but this one. “I did go to rehab for my knee, but that’s not why I disappeared for those first two years.”

Oh?

“I, um… Iwasundergoingrehabformydrugandalcoholaddiction,” Viktor hurries out in one breath. 

It takes a second for Yuuri to separate out the sentence in his head. And then he blinks once. Twice. Three times.

_What?_

For a moment, he stands there in shocked silence. Well. This makes a lot more sense now.

“So um. Yeah. That’s what happened.” Viktor rubs the back of his neck. He feels surprisingly lighter after that confession. It’s like a weight has been lifted off his chest after three years of pure silence. “I entered a rehab facility in Tokyo. By the time I recovered, I decided to move somewhere more quiet, somewhere people wouldn’t recognize me or ask questions.”

“So you came to Hasetsu,” Yuuri finishes for him.

This finally gets Viktor to look at him. “Yes, I came to Hasetsu.”

Above them, another round of cheering goes off. Chris is done, so it’ll be Phichit’s turn next.

“And you…”

Viktor waits.

“ _You didn’t think to tell me that_?”

He winces at the accusation in Yuuri’s words. “No,” Viktor says, the word almost getting lodged in his throat. His head falls forward.

“Because you didn’t think I could handle it?”

“No, of course not. That’s not—”

“Then _why_? _Why_ would you not tell me who you were?”

Yuuri’s vaguely aware of the fact that this setting’s all wrong. They shouldn’t be meeting like this after months of no rain. This wasn’t the way he wanted to do this. He wanted to properly introduce himself, not start off with a fight that could have easily been avoided from the very beginning.

“You know what… I was wrong. I hate you after all.”

Viktor’s head jerks up. There’s so much hurt in his eyes, and oh that’s just so unfair because can’t he see? Doesn’t he see the hurt reflected back in Yuuri’s own eyes?

But he can’t stop. Not when he has so much to say and so little time to say it.

“You’ve always struck me as a strange person, but looking back now, I should have never gone to that gazebo.” Yuuri clenches his fists and glares at the ground. He can feel the tears welling up in his eyes. “I mean, drinking iced tea and chocolate in the morning, spouting off song lyrics in another language at me…” He directs his glare at Viktor now, who stands there with so many raw emotions on his face. He looks more lost than ever.

“You knew who I was, didn’t you?” He asks, voice growing louder as more emotions overtake him. “You _knew_ from the moment I said Sochi that I was talking about last year’s Grand Prix Final, didn’t you? God, I mean…” His voice cracks, but he wills himself to keep going for both their sakes. “If I had known who you were, I never would have told you something humiliating like that! You _knew_ , and you didn’t even say anything! Isn’t that a little unfair, _Viktor-san_?”

Viktor visibly recoils, like Yuuri’s just put a brand to his skin. “I will admit that I knew, but…”

Yuuri almost falters when he sees a spark of anger in Viktor’s own eyes.

“You didn’t tell me who you were either. You said you were a figure skater, but you _never_ said you were a competitor on the international level! I had to come to the conclusion on my own until you mentioned Sochi!”

“But this is _different_!” Yuuri yells, startling them both.

He can distinctly hear the applause from above, which means he doesn’t have much time left. Leo de la Iglesia is up next, followed by Georgi Popovich and then Yuuri. 

“I only just entered my first Grand Prix last year, and guess how that went? I _lost._ But you’re a five-time consecutive champion, so how do you think that makes me feel?! You knew I was some amateur skater and _you never said anything_!” His voice breaks at that last part, and he can already feel the tears streaming down his face. God, this whole situation is such a mess.

“You probably thought I would never amount to anything, didn’t you?!” He’s full-on shouting now. “You thought maybe it’d be fun to humor the dime-a-dozen skater, didn’t you?!”

Viktor’s trembling. There are tears streaming down his face too.

“I’m used to people blaming me for my own failures, so you could have at least done the same! You could have at least blamed me just like everyone else! So go on, say it! Tell me how worthless I am, _tell me I’ll never amount to anything_!”

Viktor shakes his head furiously.

“See?! It’s because you act like that! You never say what’s important, you never tell anyone how you feel! All you do is listen to other people all day! You..!” Yuuri takes a shaky step forward. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“ _You’ve been living your whole life alone without saying anything_!”

He can feel the weight of those words echo in the parking lot, and for a moment, nothing happens.

Suddenly he staggers backwards, his breath almost getting knocked right out of his chest.

Viktor’s hugging him. _Viktor’s hugging him_. His arms are wrapped so tightly around Yuuri’s neck, like he’s afraid Yuuri will float away like a balloon in the wind if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. 

A broken sound escapes Viktor’s mouth, and it strikes Yuuri that _Viktor’s crying_. And it’s not the pretty type either. It’s the type of crying that’s loud and ugly from being forced away for so long. Yuuri wonders, not for the first time, how long Viktor’s been keeping these emotions of his locked away. How long has it been since he’s cried like this in another person’s arms?

“E-Every day…” Viktor’s trembling so hard that Yuuri’s afraid he won’t get the words out. “…Every day I-I look at the medals in my closet, and I hate it. I want to throw up. Some days I can’t even _breathe_ , and I think I’m going to spiral down into that dark hole again. But then…” He clings onto Yuuri tighter, and he lets him. “Then I met you. I went to that gazebo and _I met you_. And… And you made me feel again. You made me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt these past twenty years. I… I…”

 _You saved me_.

Viktor’s clearly reached his breaking point.

And so has Yuuri.

So they stand there, holding each other under the dim lights of the parking lot, crying until there’s nothing left in them to let go.

 

* * *

 

 _I’ve never cried before a competition_ , Yuuri thinks as he skates through his free program. He definitely feels more relaxed than before, and somehow he’s able to nail the first few jumps in the beginning parts of his program.

But of course there are mistakes, and of course he misses a few technical points due to screwing up some of his jumps. But it’s okay. He can do this. And surprisingly, he’s not as tired as he should be after barely getting any sleep the night before.

He over-rotates on the triple axel, single loop, triple Salchow combination, but then he cleanly lands all of his jumps in the combo right after. He’s nearing the end of his program, and he has one more jump left to do. He originally planned for it to be a quadruple toe loop, but then he spots Viktor by the barrier and thinks:

 _I wonder how Viktor would react if I changed the last quad from a toe loop to a flip_.

He has a lot of time to think it over as he skates through his step sequence.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t hit him that he just tried to land a quadruple flip until after the fact, when he’s landed hard on the ice and is scrambling to get up to keep in time with the music. But he hears the news casters, and he knows he got enough rotations in to make it count as a flip. He does the last combination spin of the program, and then finishes with a pose that leaves his hands outstretched, like he’s reaching out towards another pair of invisible hands.

The crowd goes absolutely nuts. The news casters keep going on and on about how not even the great Viktor Nikiforov would attempt to do a quad flip right at the end, when exhaustion would normally be at its peak.

Yuuri attempts to find Viktor among the crowd. It takes him a while to track the man down, because the man’s currently running around the rink towards him.  

Yuuri skates over to meet him halfway. “Viktor!” He yells, his arms outstretched, cheeks flushed with happiness. “I did great, didn’t I?”

Viktor’s bent over, clearly panting from having exerted himself from the run. He stands up, smiles, and then everything kind of goes blurry after that. All Yuuri can remember is a pair of soft lips against his own. Soon he’s falling hard on the ice, but not too hard with a hand carefully cradling the back of his head.

“This was the only thing I could think of to surprise you more than you’ve surprised me,” Viktor says, a little out of breath as he pushes himself up. Blue eyes are shining down at him with so much fondness and _love_ , and Yuuri can’t help mirroring the expression back.

He chuckles softly. “Really?”

If possible, they bring their faces closer to each other. Viktor’s forehead is almost resting on Yuuri’s, and for moment, they forget that they’re lying on the ice together.

Or the fact that _Viktor Nikiforov_ may have just kissed Yuuri on national television.

 

* * *

 

In the end, he doesn’t maintain his first place standing.

But he does get second place.

Phichit wins his first gold medal, while Chris snatches up the bronze from Georgi. 

“So I see you’ve stolen my man,” Phichit says while they on pose on the ice for pictures. 

Yuuri laughs brightly. From afar, Viktor raises a curious eyebrow. “I’m sure we can find a way to share him.”

“ _Please_. With the way he makes those goo-goo eyes at you, it’s pretty obvious that he already belongs to you.”

“You better be careful Yuuri,” Chris purrs, “People won’t be too happy that you’ve stolen Viktor Nikiforov from the skating world.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes while Phichit pulls them close together for a selfie. Somehow, he’s able to get the rest of the skaters on the ice for one big group selfie. The coaches stand far off in the background, all claiming they're too shy for pictures. But they’re still willing to endorse a bit of fun as the skaters make goofy faces at the camera. They know their skaters have deserved it.

Viktor places an arm around Yuuri. “What were you and Phichit talking about just now?” He asks. Just for the heck of it, he throws up a peace sign.

“Just how I stole his favorite life-long idol from him. But I think he’s okay with sharing.”

Viktor throws back his head and laughs.

 

 

**_One day later._ **

 

It’s about a five-hour flight from Beijing to Fukuoka Airport. Ideally, Yuuri wanted to go back together with Viktor, but he was unable to change his ticket and so he’s coming back on a separate flight.

They make sure to exchange numbers this time. Viktor adds a string of heart emojis next to Yuuri’s contact name. Yuuri calls him a dork and adds the Russian flag next to Viktor’s name. Viktor pouts and complains that it’s boring, so Yuuri rolls his eyes and replaces the flag with a poodle instead.

By the time Yuuri’s plane touches down in Japan, he turns on his phone and fires off a quick text to Viktor. He scrolls through their past messages, and he can’t help the sappy smile that crosses his face at the thought of Viktor’s number saved onto his phone.  

He’s welcomed back with an unnecessary amount of confetti and more food than he could possibly eat in one night. But more importantly, his family and friends are all gathered around him, pulling him into one hug after another and congratulating him on his second-place win. This is probably the happiest he’s ever felt in a long time.

His phone vibrates in his back pocket later, and he almost drops it in his haste to get it out. Viktor’s name shows up on the screen, followed by a preview of his message. He looks around at his family and friends and bites his lip.

Mari nudges his shoulder. “Just go.”

Yuuri jumps in his seat. “E-Eh? What are you talking about?”

Mari rolls her eyes. “ _Go_ , I’ve got this. No one will be mad if you slip out for a few hours.”

He doesn’t know want to know how Mari was able to figure it out, but he silently thanks her and slips out the door as discreetly as possible.

He runs all the way to the gazebo, not quite caring that his jeans are chafing against his thighs or the fact that he’s exhausted right down to his bones. Because the moment he sees Viktor, the other man opens up his arms for Yuuri to fall right into. The chafing is _so_ worth the hug that he’s been craving all night.

Viktor inhales deeply. “I’ve missed you.”

Yuuri chuckles against his neck. “It’s only been seven hours.”

“Too long,” he murmurs. He squeezes Yuuri before pulling back a fraction. “Thank you,” he suddenly says.

“W-What for?” Yuuri splutters, his cheeks already turning a faint red.

Viktor kisses the tip of his nose. He laughs when Yuuri goes slightly cross-eyed. “For meeting me. For accepting me as I was, even though you barely even knew me.” His smile falters, and his face turns serious. “I am sorry for that. I really didn’t mean to lie to you like that.”

They’ve talked about this. Extensively. And they’ve come to the agreement that they were both at fault. Viktor obviously had his reasons for never revealing who he was, and Yuuri certainly didn’t hate Viktor. They were both caught up in the heat of the moment, and words were said that shouldn’t have been said. So they both know better now.

“I thought we talked about this,” Yuuri reminds him, puffing out his cheeks in fond exasperation. 

“I know.” Viktor slides his hands down so they’re both resting over Yuuri’s. “But I’ll keep saying sorry until it makes you feel better. Because I really am sorry. Truly.”

“I know that already.”

“I know, so… I’m sorry,” Viktor repeats again.

Because he can, Yuuri pokes at the whorl on Viktor’s head. The look on his face is absolutely priceless.

“Oh!” Yuuri straightens up. “I almost forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Viktor asks, self-consciously touching the top of his head.

Yuuri clears his throat. “Stammi vicino, non te ne andare. Ho paura di perderti.” His pronunciation is nowhere near as perfect as Viktor’s once was, but he manages to get the sentence out without fumbling too much.

“S-Stay close to me, don’t go away. I’m afraid of… losing you,” Yuuri repeats again, this time in English and with far less confidence than before. Somehow, the words sound way more intimate when they’re not being sung in Italian.

Slowly, like the sky clearing after a long bout of rain, Viktor’s face splits into a huge grin. “You figured it out,” he says, slightly awed.

“I did. And I watched your free skate from Worlds. It was very moving, I almost cried you know?”

“Oh dear, you watched it?” Viktor looks embarrassed now. “I figured you would at some point. It wasn’t exactly my best performance.”

Yuuri shakes his head. “Viktor, _it was amazing_. I really almost did cry.”

He had watched the YouTube clip right up until the very end. Viktor’s knee had buckled during the last toe loop combination, and yet he was still able to get through the whole program. Yuuri could tell that the final combination spin was a killer, as Viktor had had to switch legs in order to even complete it. His heart nearly broke when he saw the way Viktor dropped from his final pose and collapsed onto the ice, clutching at his knee until his knuckles turned white and lost all color. There was so much pain and anguish on Viktor’s face, like he already knew that that was it. The last free skate of his career.

But here, in this moment, a spot of color blooms on Viktor’s cheeks. “Y-You think so?” He asks shyly.

“Yeah, _I do_. And this is coming from the best amateur skater in Japan—”

“Oh stop!” Viktor flicks Yuuri in the forehead. “You are _not_ an amateur. You just got silver at your first major event of the season. It’s a means for celebration, not self-deprecation.”

Yuuri _pffts_ in response. Viktor Nikiforov is a huge dork who makes up rhymes on the spot.

“Oh wait!”

Viktor laughs. God he could listen to that sound forever. “Now what?”

“Well… erm.” He’s not exactly sure how to phrase this. Does he beat around the bush or just go for it? No one ever really gave him a manual for how to ask a famous five-time champion to be his coach for the rest of the season.

“Um… how do you feel about coaching?” When Viktor doesn’t respond right away, he starts backpedaling fast. “Errrr you know what, nevermind. I’m sure you’re sick of people asking you and you probably want to take a break from the ice even though you’ve been taking a break for three years. Not to say that’s a bad thing! Taking a break is always good both for physical and mental health— I’m sorry, what was I talking about again?”

He rambles when he gets nervous. Sue him.

“I believe you were asking how I felt about coaching,” Viktor says in a carefully neutral tone. It leaves absolutely nothing for Yuuri to infer from.

“Ah.. right. Which you totally don’t have to answer by the way.”

“…Would you really want someone like me to be your coach?” Viktor asks, uncharacteristically timid. 

Yuuri tries to offer a reassuring smile. “I would. If you’d want to, of course!” He hurries to add.

Viktor gives a small smile back. It’s a bit on the fragile side, but it’s definitely not close to breaking any time soon. “Would you mind if I thought about it for a while? I mean I’m ninety-five percent sure my answer’s going to be yes, but I know absolutely nothing about coaching and I’m going to need a little help before we figure this all out.”

Yuuri nods. “Of course. I’ll still be here you know. I’m not going anywhere.”

Viktor pulls Yuuri in close until their foreheads are touching. He breathes out a happy sound. “No, you’re not.”

 

 

**_The rest of November to December._ **

 

Viktor’s not a perfect coach by any means. He makes mistakes like any other person, and some days he has no idea what’s he doing. He has his bad days and his good days, with some more bad than good, but it’s understandable when the ice has long since become his best friend and worst enemy. He and Yuuri get into fights because they’re both not perfect, but that’s what couples do. They fight, they talk, and then they make up.

Yuuri and Viktor both make it a point to never walk out on each other when they’re angry, because as they’ve both come to learn, anger can be a very dangerous weapon. Yuuri does end up breaking that promise, but then he comes right back five minutes later and says, “I know we said to never walk away angry, but let’s just make sure we always come back to each other in the end.”

Through all the good days and bad days, there’s no denying that Yuuri absolutely flourishes under Viktor’s tutelage. Viktor helps him to develop his true eros, and he showers Yuuri with critiques and praises like a never-ending rainstorm.

It’s proven a few weeks later at the Rostelecom Cup, when Yuuri surpasses his personal best during the short program. He’s in first place for now, but Yuri Plisetsky isn’t far behind him. Jean-Jacques Leroy gets a whopping 113.56 for his short program, which puts Yuuri in a comfortable second place and Yuri in third.

Yuri, for all his tsundere ways (Viktor had learned that term from Yuuri), is still immensely happy to see Viktor despite his third-place finish. Yakov too if you squint hard enough, but deep down, he’s just happy to see Viktor smiling again. It’s been a long time since he saw his former student like that, so he’ll thank the Japanese skater later. Maybe after Yuri crushes him in Barcelona, because Yakov has no doubt those two will be competing against each other in the finals. 

Yuri _is_ a bit peeved that Viktor’s coaching the enemy now.

“You know, this is getting too confusing when there’s two of you,” Viktor says to both Yuuri and Yuri. “I’ll just call you Yurio, okay?” He directs that part at Yuri, who almost throws his skate at Viktor if not for Lilia’s death glare of doom.

The free program is where things get a little trickier, as Viktor has to fly back to Hasetsu because a _certain dog_ couldn’t keep his paws away from those red bean buns he loves so much. Viktor almost doesn’t blame him, because Yuuri’s mother makes the best homemade buns.

Yuuri doesn’t do awful, but he barely makes it into the Grand Prix Final if not for the fact that he got second place at the Cup of China. When he and Viktor finally reunite at the airport, Yuuri says he wants Viktor to continue to take care of him for the rest of the season. Instead Viktor says he should just take care of Yuuri forever, and then proceeds to call it a marriage proposal.

They both end up crying at that.

 

* * *

 

December rolls around like a storm on the horizon, and their days are filled with endless practices and not enough downtime. Yuuri’s been working tirelessly to try and perfect his quadruple flip, but it’s difficult because it really is a challenging jump and Viktor can’t exactly demonstrate it to Yuuri without breaking his knee entirely. So they have to resort to old YouTube clips of Viktor’s past performances for a better reference. It helps and it doesn’t, because some of the clips are so grainy and the internet connection is average at best. But they make do with what they have and what they don’t.

Yuuri is exhausted, and he feels like he’s living out of his suitcase half the time because the moment they come back from Russia, they’re already leaving for Barcelona. They do get some downtime before the short program though, and Viktor makes sure to take him to all the best places in Barcelona. He showers Yuuri with endless amounts of expensive food and clothes. Yuuri does pale a bit when he catches a glimpse of the bill, but just this once, he chooses to ignore Viktor’s irresponsible spending habits. Needless to say, it’s one of the best days of this life.

The day of the short program, on the other hand, is not the best day of his life. Yuuri’s score drops to the nineties, which is a bit unexpected compared to his performances at China and Russia. It’s not an awful score, and again, it’s the free program that really counts. But he is a little distraught to see his score get that low, especially when he tried to incorporate that quad flip and failed to complete it properly.

Viktor merely throws his arm around Yuuri and says, “Failed quad flip or no, just know that I’m immensely proud of you right now. That was a beautiful program, and you really did seduce me and the audience.” It does lift Yuuri’s spirits a bit.

Things get better once they’re both up in the stands with the rest of the skaters who came to support them on their journey. They’re all joking and teasing with each other, and at one point, Yuuri and Emil gang up on Mickey to the point where there’s almost smoke coming out of his ears. For the first time Yuuri thinks, _Ah, so this is what it’s like to have friends_. He’s always been so focused on competing that he never really thought to make connections with the other skaters. He’s happy and laughing, and he can’t quite bring himself to mope over his short program’s score.

Yurio, of course, does extremely well. Yuuri and Viktor aren’t surprised, because he really is so talented for his age. JJ ends up self-destructing in the end, but he’s able to finish off his program to the tearful cheers of his fiancé and fans. It’s quite heartwarming to watch, and even Yurio is a bit touched. Later, Yuuri hugs JJ and says, “That was a really inspiring performance. I’ll be watching for you during the free skate.”

“That was nice of you to do that,” Viktor says, his eyes shining with so much pride and adoration.  

Yuuri shrugs. “I was just being honest, that’s all.” He’s not lying. It really _was_ inspiring, because it reminds Yuuri of Sochi all over again. No skater should ever have to go through what Yuuri did, so he figures a few encouraging words with the Canadian skater couldn’t hurt, right?

In the end though, no one really knows how the final results will turn out, and Yuuri is every bit as anxious as he is determined to secure a spot on the podium. They all are, and there’s so much tension in the air that he feels like he’s about to break. Thankfully, Viktor senses this and guides him outside for a much-needed breather.

“Okay?” Viktor asks once Yuuri’s calmed down a bit.

Yuuri breathes in deeply. He looks at Viktor, and he sees the signs of worry etched into Viktor’s own features. _He looks way more anxious than I do right now._  

He stretches up on his tip-toes to kiss the corner of Viktor’s mouth. “I’m okay,” Yuuri says, pulling back a bit. “Now come on. I’ve got a gold medal to win, don’t I?”

For all his determination and hard work and the perfect quadruple flip he lands at the end, Yuuri does not get first place. Instead it goes to Yuri Plisetsky. But Yuuri honestly couldn’t be happier, especially with a silver medal hanging around his own neck. And turns out Yuuri’s words do pay off, because JJ’s able to pull himself back together for the free skate. He ends with a strong third-place finish.

Yuuri does notice the bittersweet look on Otabek Altin’s face, and once all the pictures and interviews are done, Yuuri makes sure to catch the Kazakhstani skater on his way out. He pulls him into a hug, murmuring, “Hey, congratulations. I know you only got fourth place, but I have no doubt you’ll make a comeback at the Four Continents and Worlds.”

Otabek doesn’t say anything, but the way he squeezes back is more than enough of a confirmation for Yuuri.

“You know, with the way you keep giving out all these free hugs, it’s going to make me jealous,” Viktor jokes after Yuuri’s done.

Yuuri stares at him, then surprises Viktor by pulling him into a hug of his own. “Your hugs are better,” Yuuri says with the utmost conviction. He knows what it’s like to have that feeling of inadequacy, and for all Viktor tries to look confident, Yuuri knows there’s still that underlying anxiety underneath.

But it's okay. It's all okay. They'll both have their bad days and their good days, because god knows Yuuri will never get over his anxiety and Viktor will still panic from time to time when he steps foot on the ice. But as long as they have each other, that's what really matters. 

"Eh, Yuuri? I can't really breathe right now. Yuuri?"

 

* * *

 

Despite Nationals being just around the corner, Yuuri and Viktor decide to take a much-needed break and extend their stay in Barcelona for a while. They all do really, because the rest of the skaters are _exhausted_. Yuri and Chris do have to cut their stay short though, because they have Europeans right after Nationals and well, there’s really no rest for the weary.

During their last dinner together with all the other skaters, Chris jokingly asks when Yuuri and Viktor are going to get married. Phichit joins in on the teasing, so Viktor just gives a shit-eating grin and announces they’ll get married once Yuuri wins gold at Worlds. The comment creates a scarily competitive atmosphere, but it gets the skaters motivated for the rest of the season, so what’s the harm?

It’s not until later that night that Viktor _does_ realize the potential harm he’s caused. He hadn’t meant to create an incentive like that, and he doesn’t want Yuuri to feel like he _has_ to win gold in order for their marriage to be valid because Viktor will always love Yuuri regardless and—

He frantically grabs Yuuri by the shoulders. “I was just kidding, you know that right? Of course we’ll get married no matter what you get. You could get dead last again and I’d still marry you a hundred times over.” Yuuri does look immensely relieved to hear that, so he figures he did something right for once in his life.

Go communication!

“But I’m still going to win gold at Worlds,” Yuuri reminds him in a serious voice, and there’s that competitive spark in his eyes that Viktor loves.

“And I have no doubt you will,” Viktor responds with all the faith he can muster.

 

 

**_February._ **

 

They do officially get engaged in February, right between the lull of Four Continents and Worlds. Yuuri gets his revenge by winning gold at both Nationals and Four Continents, because of course he does.

If Viktor had his way, he would have proposed in Barcelona, right in front of the Sagrada Familia church. There might even be a choir singing in the background with church bells ringing in time with the choir.

But in Viktor’s opinion, Yuuri’s proposal is ten times more perfect.

Because he takes Viktor back to the start, right where it all began under that little gazebo outside Hasetsu Castle. There’s some lingering snow on the ground and Viktor feels like his toes are about to freeze off, but in his mind, it’s raining and the cherry blossoms are in full bloom.

“Thank you for everything up until now,” Yuuri starts off as he shakily slips the ring over Viktor’s own shaking fingers. “I… I don’t know where I’d be right now if I hadn’t met you right here in the rain. We’ve been through a lot together, and I know it may seem like we’ve only known each for a short amount of time, but to me, I feel like I’ve known you forever.” Yuuri’s eyes glance up, and there’s an adorable blush staining his cheeks. “Will you… will you marry me, Viktor Nikiforov? For real, this time? Not, like, hypothetically speaking in an airport?”

Viktor laughs at that last part. He takes Yuuri’s hand and slips the other matching ring over his finger. “Yes, _for real this time_ ,” Viktor answers fondly. He holds Yuuri’s hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world. _They’re getting married_.

And then the strangest thing happens.

It rains.

Yuuri and Viktor both stare at each other in wide-eyed shock, and then they burst out into laughter. God, could this day get any more perfect?

For the rest of the afternoon, they stay under that little gazebo and watch the rain together.

 

* * *

 

At one point, they were two lost souls who met each other on a rainy day.

And maybe, just maybe, they might have found their way back again.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on tumblr [here](http://e-phemerally.tumblr.com)


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